The Spawn of Holmes
by Ashes of the Wicked
Summary: Set in the time of the movie later on, when the fic gets there. A/U, rated T for language. OC's will be used. I'm not earning any money for this fanfiction. ON HIATUS.
1. The Modern Holmes

Summary: chapter story of two college students in present day who get shipped back into the time of Sherlock and Watson, and pair up with the two to stop Blackwood. Some simalarity to the movie regarding quotes and such.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Watson, I only own Spencer Holmes, Ben Murdock, and Asher the cat!

* * *

"Holmes!"

This cry was not uncommon in the apartment of Ben Murdock. And it was very likely that he was the one yelling it.

The man in question had been the one sounding the familier call through the college door on this evening. The twenty-one year old received no reply from the depths of the building, much to his annoyment. He growled under his breath as an old housekeeper hurried toward him.

"Please, sir,-" She began, but was cut off by Murdock's risen hand.

"What's she done this time?"

The 'she' that was the subject of the conversation was the anti-social, cunning, exceedingly brillient, smartass, beautiful, aggrative, athletic, young, nineteen year old detective-in-training, Spencer Holmes.

"She's firing bullets at whoever enters sir! I'm afraid to go in there by myself!"

Murdock sighed, and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. Holmes. God damn the woman. She was more trouble than she was worth between cases,and yet during them he wouldn't be able to live without her.

"I'll go and speak with her. Maybe some sense can be pounded into that brillient mind of her's."

The nanny snorted in disagreement, but Murdock ignored her. Holmes and the woman were never on the best of terms. With the thick headed stubborness of his friend, it wasn't hard to imagine why.

He reached the girl's door and rapped on it sharply. Without waiting for an answer, he went in.

"Permission to enter?"

A silence greeted him for a pause before a usually light, but now thick with drink, English accented voice greeted him.

"Granted." A shot rang out and entered the wood wall with a heavy thud.

"Stop that." Murdock grabbed the handgun from the seemingly trigger-happy girl and gave her a glare.

"Why weren't you in class today? You said you'd show!"

"Yes." The girl looked up at him with dark brown, thoughtful eyes, eyes that never missed the smallest detail, ever. "I said I would come, but I didn't promise, so I felt no need to go. What does the world hold for me?" With the blinds drawn to block out the sunlight for her dilated eyes, Holmes' dark brown, shortly cut hair looked black. Murdock resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearest desk. She was so frustrating!

So, to give himself something to do, he walked over to the drawn blinds and fumbled slightly for the string.

"Murdock, no!" cried Holmes, but her yelp was too late, for the cursed light was already blazing through the glss with all it's glory. The girl whom had been sitting in a chair, rising to stand was soon flat on the ground, as though the burst of light had knocked her unconcious. The man began to walk toward the other blind.

"Murdock! Murdock, be gentle with me, GENTLE!" Holmes suddenly yelled as the second gust of light hit her drunked pupils in it's fullest, making her curl onto the ground in the fetal position until she had enough un-intoxicated travel to her brain to sit her weary body up.

"Do you try to make my existance miserable?"

Murdock looked around her room. Case files littered the ground and two desks, while a heap of blankets and pillows in the corner of the room indicated Holmes' 'bed', and a violen case sat in another of the four corners. Medicines from Murdock's own stocks, nessary for his demanding training, stacked the three tables. A bottle of rum sat by one of the chairs. The dorm rooms of Murdock and Holmes were fairly large, but somehow, with all of her furniture, Holmes had managed to make it seem the size of a regular dorm room!

And that was not to mention the mess. The place wasn't even worthy to be called a pigstey. It was a…. Holmes-stey, for lack of a better word. Shitpile was way too dirty, for now. And Murdock liked the sound and ring of the word, 'Holmes-stey'.

"You need a new case." He told her. Spencer just looked at him. "Why? My last case was only-"

"Nearly six weeks ago, Sherlock!" Murdock had always given the girl an extremely hard time about her last name, but in the last few years, it had become scary of how alike she and the strange and popular book character had become. She blinked and shrugged.

"Do you have any idea how much you seem to strive to get on my nerves?"

"On the contrary, do you know how much I succeed in getting on your nerves, or might I analyze you and tell you?"

"Be quiet."

"I was being quiet until you showed up and started the yelling bout."

"The yelling bout was your fault."

"How is it my fault when the last I saw of you was two days ago?"

"You said you would show up for class."

"But I didn't promise it."

"Saying IS promising, Holmes!"

Not exactly. If I said I would marry you and stay with you forever, I'm certainly not promising that."

Holmes held in a grin at the look on Murdock's face. He was so funny to her.

The man rolled his eyes and glared at her, then picked her up off the ground and helped her to a chair.

"I'm serious about you getting a new case, Holmes. It's really not good for humans to stay locked up in the same room for too long of a time." He glanced at the nineteen year old, who was looking around the room, thinking about something completely irrevelant to what he was saying. Turning back to the wall to sort through the papers on her desk, he muttered, "But then again, you're not human."

He turned back to her, and assessed her clothing. It looked as though she hadn't changed her clothes from two days ago. He peered at her shirt. Yep, it was definatly the same blue t-shirt with a quote from the Mentalist on it: "Life is a game, and you have plenty of time for that." Personally, Murdock never could watch the Mentalist with Holmes. She figured it out the same time the guy did, and usually she did it quicker.

"You need to get cleaned up, Holmes. I've been invited to diner with a few friends. I also get to bring someone."

Holmes looked at him. "And you chose me? How very flattering."

"I chose you simply because they insisted upon it, not because I actually wanted to bring you!" He replied quickly.

"It's still intriging."

"You'll have to wear a dress."

"Only if you do." Holmes was leaning her chair against the wall, looking out the window as her headache cleared when Murdock shot a distasteful glare at he skimpy form.

"Fine you can come in jeans if you must. People will stare at you though."

"When don't people stare at me? I'm the greatest detective in the state.

"Don't flatter yourself, Holmes."

"Why would I ever do that?

Murdock had found nothing recent or of importance in Holmes stack of mail. He was still baffled by her refusal of a cell phone, laptop, or iPod. How she lived with absolutly no electronical appliances was a mystery to him. So, he turned to leave and stopped when he saw a pile of white for on Holmes' heap of blankets.

"What have you done to my cat this time?!"

"_Our_ cat."

"_The_ cat!"

"I was simply working on a draught that slows the heartbeat and breath to near death. You know, like the one Juliet used to fake her own death. Now all w need is Romeo kitty and your precious Asher can run away and live happily ever after."

Murdock just shook his head and walked out, his hand on the doorknob. In the process of shutting the door, he called back to Holmes,

"don't embaress me at dinner!"

Holmes smirked.

"Why on Earth did you invite me then?"


	2. The Dinner Party

Disclaimer: I only own the OC's, not anyone else!

Spencer was early to the restaurant, which had some extremely fancy Italian name at which she was not in the mood to pronounce. She was wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a man's dress shirt and tux jacket, both Ben's. The stares she was receiving on account to her attire brought a small grin to her face. The smile faded soon after when still no one had shown. She dug into the tux's inside pocket and brought out an old pocket watch, one that looked like it had been in fashion during the late 1800's. Holding the delicate timepiece in her gentle hands gave her something to focus on as the buzz of the crowd, clinking of glass and silverware, and the barking of the chefs filled her ears. She removed her clear brown eyes from the face of the miniature clock to the dining people. Details registered in her mind as quickly as she saw them, if not quicker.

_Constant patting of pocket signals hidden drugs._

_Shifty eyes. He's lying to her._

_Running his hand through his hair. Wonder when he shall propose?_

_Rubbing her ring finger. I'm sorry she lost him so soon._

Holmes closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her long slender tightened slightly on the old timepiece. At that moment, Murdock's broad hand enclosed her shoulder.

"Holmes?"

"Hm?" She grunted, lifting her eyes to those bright sapphires of her roommate.

"I'd like you to meet Anne Jonathon, Tyler Berks, and David Ross."

"A pleasure." She responded, standing and shaking each of the hands of the two boys and girl. Almost immediately, she began to observe them.

_She's staring at Ben in such a way as to be perceived as a crush. _

And it was true. Anne's hazel eyes watched Murdock's face carefully, analyzing the way he looked at Holmes. At least, she tried to analyze. It was pretty damn obvious she wasn't learning anything, which was the point of analyzing. Holmes hid a scoff as a small cough.

As they sat down, the one called Tyler asked her, "So, Spencer, are you working on a new case?" The boy's grey eyes watched her with open and wide admiration.

"Er… No. Sorry." Why did people insist upon conversation? It was so irksome.

"Well, maybe you'll get one soon." He flashed her a dazzling smile. Or… He thought it was dazzling. It made Holmes want to vomit.

"That's what I've been telling her." Murdock said pointedly. Holmes pointedly ignored him.

"You know, I find all those murder mystery shows fascinating." The other boy, David, piped up. "Although the whole 'details mean everything ' seems a little far fetched for me."

Murdock stiffened beside Anne… _Oh, no… He did not say that to her… Oh, my God._

"Really?" Holmes' eyes grew cold, and she thought. _That bastard did not just cross that line._

"If details are so insignificant, then how do I know that you are in a feud with your girlfriend, or that you had a restless sleep last night, and you are already cheating on your girlfriend and are looking at other girls, even right now in front of me and your friends?"

David's jaw had dropped and he blinked in astonishment. "Excuse me? How dare you!"

"I already dared, no need to point it out."

David glared steely at her. "Take it back."

"Why take back to truth to replace it with lies? No one seems to want a good lie these days, and unfortunately, I see right through lies. So, there's really no point."

Tyler looked like a child in a candy shop."Can you tell about all of us?"

"Of course, but let me tell our dear Mr. Ross here what gave him away." She looked at the boy whose pride she'd just thrown out the window.

"Your shifty gaze towards the females in the room signals increased interest, but refrained guilt from lack of loyalty. That tells me that you want a new girl, but you are still dating one. The ruffled hair only looks good if styled right, and yours is not, and when you couple that with your dark-rimmed." David really wanted to smack the smug look off her face.

"Now you, Tyler, you have problems with your parents, and you seem to be wanting to leave. You like to paint and you have an intense sexual interest in me. You are young and naïve, and you want to become a detective some day, but people insist upon you being an artist from your amazing talent, and let me tell you, this job is not for someone like you."

Tyler looked like he wanted to give her a standing ovation.

"Bravo! You're spot on!"

"I can tell from the way you longingly glance back at any parents with a small child that that is what you've always craved from your family, but it's never been given. So you want to leave, naturally, and you've got the receipt for a moving truck company in your pocket. Also, you've a smudge on your hand that's been unsuccessfully rubbed off. You've never stopped watching me the entire time, so I can easily assume the other two."

Tyler nodded eagerly. "Thank you, ma'am."

She held up a hand. "Just call me Holmes. Now, Anne, no need to worry about if Murdock likes me or not and if I'm your competition for his affection, because, quite frankly, we couldn't stand each other if we were together, and we already have a mutual loving dislike that bonds us, and has bonded us since we were no less than the ages of seven and nine. Also, Murdock doesn't seem to be able to stand me much now, so if he were to move in with you, he could be rid of me for once and all. But, it'd be terrible to not have my Dr. Murdock in the case with me, making me have to become either a lawyer or hobo, and I'm thinking that the hobo is more appealing."

Anne smiled up at Murdock, and Holmes sighed inwardly. She was going to miss her colleague. No one could stand her like Murdock could, and though they didn't hate each other as much as she implied, they certainly didn't hold love for each other except for the love of best friends, and the fact that they considered each other brother and sister. Of course, Murdock and her wouldn't lose contact. They'd just never work together again. That much was clear.

A little later in the evening, Murdock wondered why Holmes had become so quiet. Before her could give her a questioning look, Anne pulled his coat sleeve and began to tell him a story that involved a lot of high pitched laughter.

In the end, Holmes left the dinner early, leaving her food mostly uneaten. Excusing herself with the excuse of needing to feed the cat, (which brought forth a glare from Ben) she walked away from the restaurant toward the local fight club. There, she could pretend like her opponent was Anne.


	3. The Fight and Strange Occurence

Disclaimer: I'm afraid I'm not sexy enough to own Holmes or Watson. I just own everyone else who's not in the movie.

The burly muscular man had bulging biceps, and pulsing triceps. The mere bulk of him dwarfed the small, slight girl in the ring opposite him. Spencer's shortly cut hair, almost always in neurotic disarray, which even messier than usual. Her copper brown eyes glared at the huge hulking giant excuse for a human with clear anger. They buzzed slightly from drink. The crowds erratic cheering faded into a slight background.

The man lunged at her, and she sidestepped, jabbing him sharply in the ribs. A crack was heard, and Spencer fell back as the crowd gathered a collective gasp. The man howled in extreme pain. As he had thrown his body back from the pain of his fractured rib, he'd pushed the small girl away with a huge hand.

Following through, Holmes shoved her hand up into his throat, choking him, then sprang up and clapped her hands over his ears, then jabbed him into the eyes, before throwing her shoulder into his stomach and shoving him to the ground in a moaning heap. All this happened in no less than three seconds. The crowd fell silent.

"What the hell?!" yelled out one man in the crowd at the departing back of Holmes. She rolled her eyes before grabbing a towel and heading home, barely noticing the cut running blood down her stomach from the gashed skin across her left rib.

When she reached home, she left on her jeans and sports bra, feeling no need to change out of it. Slipping on Ben's white shirt, but leaving it unbuttoned and rolling up the sleeves, she picked up the violin and plucked at it with her fingers before grabbing the horsehair bow and beginning to play. It was only a song of how she felt, with no published sheet music and no words.

This is what Ben heard when he walked in the door. He looked at the door, which was Spencer's, and found it closed, with the wordless tune wafting from behind it. He opened it up, and found Holmes leaning over a pan, which was tied onto a small stool on a table, with a small lizard in it. The melody stopped, and Holmes cocked her head slightly.

"Murdock?"

"Yes, Holmes."

"Look at what I've discovered; when playing a happy energetic tune, the lizard nods his head faster. But when a slower tune is held, he seems to almost drift asleep. When certain notes are played, he will either walk in a perfect circle, or lie down like a trained dog."

Murdock hadn't been listening all that much. Instead he looked at the open bottle on the dresser. He lifted it.

"Holmes, this is meant for repairing and disinfecting wounds."

"My mouth needed cleaning, and we had no suitable soap."

Murdock suddenly caught sight of the red on his shirt.

"What have you done to yourself this time?!" He ran forward and pulled back the shirt more. Holmes didn't really mind him just seeing her clothed in only a sports bra and jeans. He'd seen her with just those on many times before, it wasn't new.

"Nothing, really. The bastard can just throw a really good smack. His nails were unclipped and ragged. That's what caused it."

"Holmes, I've told you to stop going to that damn club! It's no place for nineteen year old girls!"

Spencer gave him a look.

"Well, you aren't what you could call a normal nineteen year old girl, but still…" Murdock broke off when he remembered her at fourteen, taking on the meanest boy in the entire high school armed with only her fists, her pocketknife, and her wits.

She beat him with purely the last.

Murdock was just beginning to realize how the sweet young girl he'd known as a child had grown into a fierce young woman, armed to the teeth with cunning. She didn't need him to protect her anymore.

The thought made his heart ache for some strange reason.

"Come on, Holmes." He sighed. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Holmes followed him to the kitchen where he pulled open a drawer and began to sift through it. Meanwhile, Holmes opened up the refrigerator, then gave a little disbelieving gasp of astonishment.

"What is it Holmes?"

"We are out of orange juice."

"Okay. I'll get some later."

"We need orange juice."

"The world isn't going to end because you have no orange juice!"

"_The_ world isn't, but _my _world might just do that."

"You aren't going to drop dead from no orange juice."

"I just may."

"Get some milk instead, Holmes!"

"Milk? MILK?! What if my cells have stopped producing lactase, and when I drink the lactose I start to throw up, then I die because we had no freakin' orange juice?! You would feel terribly bad because you have no me around and you can't live without me."

"You are so conceited."

"That's why you love me so."

Murdock just snorted, then with a quiet murmur of "Stay still." He began to stitch up the cut, feeling Holmes twitch slightly when the needle brushed her bone. Why did the girl have to be so damn skinny?! But, he had to admit that it took a lot of self control on her part to not jump away and make him hurt her more.

He finally pulled the needle through the last piece of torn skin and clipped the string. "That should come out in a few days on its own." He told her. She nodded, then turned away and began to browse about the scattered novels in the kitchen. Settling her hands upon _Sherlock Holmes_ (The one with the lord Blackwood case… It's name evaded him for now) and plopping down in an armchair, she began to read.

"Holmes, put a shirt on." He told her, throwing her his now-bloodied shirt, not meaning for her to actually put it on, but just get the general idea. He wanted to wash it.

Without saying a word, Holmes slipped her arms through and put it on. Ben glared at the back of her head.

"Does this sound anything like today?" Holmes asked, before opening her mouth to begin reading from the story. Ben went into the state of bored imagining, not actually listening to Holmes as the words flowed from her mouth. Something about a fight scene and a dinner party. Nothing really too out of the ordinary, although it did have a similarity of what had occurred today.

As he was putting away his supplies and pretending to listen, he noticed something particular about his hands. They were glowing. Glowing a bright, dazzling gold. He looked up a Holmes, who had stopped reading. She, too, was glowing. As they watched each other, their background changed to the cobbled streets of London in the 1800's.


	4. The Two Holmes Can Only Equal Trouble

A/N: Just an FYI, Holmes and Murdock did not into the book like in _Inkheart_, because Holmes didn't read them into the book. Everything will be explained, but I just wanted that much to be clear. Also, never consult a cat for ideas. They are terrible at it.

Disclaimer: Still not sexy enough to own Sherlock and such.

Murdock looked around him and Holmes in wonder. The girl was leisurely sitting on a crate, idly petting a purring Asher and looking around with a curious look on her face. Across the street, a few men were playing a sort of dice game. It wasn't long before Spencer suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the street.

"Start walking, and look down. You will run into someone. You get to do the talking until I intervene." Murdock opened his mouth to question, but her cool hand covered it. "Shush."

They walked their heads down. It wasn't long, till Ben ran straight into someone. With a sidelong glance at Holmes, who gave an ever-so-small nod, he looked into the face of Dr. John Watson.

"Uh… Er, so sorry, sir. 'Twas an accident, sir…." He stammered. John was staring at the boy's strange clothes, then looked at the girl, then did a double take. Even the man beside him took the liberty of a second glance.

What they saw was quite unusual. A black-haired, blue-eyed boy with the lean lanky frame of someone who had more speed than strength, wearing a strange looking suit and a girl, who was the spitting female image of his companion, holding an ash coloured white cat. She wore the most peculiar outfit. Jeans, something never seen before in this time, and a man's white dress shirt, unbuttoned, with an odd corset. She was small and nimbled framed, with sharp eyes and a clever gleam in the brown pair.

"Who are you?" Asked Watson.

"Ben Murdock, sir."

"And you, girl?" Watson swiftly questioned. Ben opened his mouth, but Spencer beat him.

"I am Spencer Holmes."

Back at 221b Baker Street, the great Sherlock Holmes watched the equally great Spencer Holmes with an analyzing glance. Some body parts, like her nose and forehead, were not identical to his, so he had to assume that she either wasn't his offspring, or that she had inherited the traits from her mother, whoever she may be. The way her unruly hair sat was almost in a mirror image of his own, as was the calculating observations.

"Come forward child." The girl stepped toward him. Her way of walking was careful on the right side. He also noticed her hair was a tad longer than necessary, and her skin was pale by her eye. He would give the excuse of checking her eye colour.

"If we are related-"

"The the shape of our eyes, and the shade of brown should be somewhat similar, given if my mother's genes have not intervened too much." Spencer interrupted and finished for him.

"Yes." He nodded, then cupped her face and brushed aside her hair. John took in a breath behind him.

The right eye was clouded and scarred across skin and pupil, and clouded with what could be mistaken for cataracts, if not for the dull musky brown underlying the misty colour. Sherlock's gaze ran over the tan skin of her face, marred by angry pale lines that spoke of abuse or earlier fights. Ben spoke up from behind Watson.

"Sir, she can't see in that eye. I've done everything I can for it, but it refuses to respond to treatment." The boy stepped forward and his broad hand took the place of Sherlock's, and her took his finger and gently moved it to and fro with no response from the injured right orb.

"Are you a doctor, Mr. Murdock?"

"Almost, Sir Watson, I've got a good few years left in college."

"How old are you?"'

"Twenty and one year, sir." Murdock remembered the training of Old English his Holmes has insisted upon teaching him.

"And you, Spencer?" This time, it was Sherlock's gruff voice that addressed her.

"Nineteen."

"How is it, a nineteen year old girl comes to have injuries such as this," He tapped her face. "This," He lifted her shirt to reveal the new stitches, "And this." He pointed to an old scar that stretched from her hip, arching from her jeans.

"Fights, mostly." She wasn't going to explain her face anytime soon, Murdock knew. She never talked about that.

"Well… It's obvious to me that we were meant to quest together, Spencer, Murdock. Would you like to come with us to help us find the answer to this most intriguing case of Lord Blackwood?"

"An honor, sir." Murdock said quickly, perking up immediately, when the subject had veered away from the whereabouts of Holmes' many scars.

Sherlock looked at his futuristic double.

"And you?"

"Oh, what else have I to do?"

The two Holmes walked ahead of Watson and Murdock, leaving the men to converse together. Their subject? Their irrepressibly annoying, lovable roommates.

"Does yours steal your clothes?" Watson asked.

"Yep. Does yours wake up at three in the morning to play the violin?"

"He does. Experiment the strangest things?"

"Most defiantly. Chase off your friends by stating the ugly truth?"

"Manages to do that every day. Become sullen and depressed when no cases are abroad?"

"Very much so. Drinks?"

"A lot. Takes medicine from your storage?"

"I don't know what gives her the right. Kills the cat?"

"Dog, actually, but yes. Terrible hygienic tendencies?"

"I don't know how she stands herself. Lives in a Holmes-sty?"

"I guess you could call it that. Notices details that no normal person should notice?"

"And points them out. Is too smart for his own good."

"Yes. And above all…"

Together, the two stated; "Most certainly NOT human!"

"You know, young Murdock, I think we shall get along quite well…"

The two Holmes were talking about something much less comical, and more scientifical.

"Did you know that the body has cells that regulates the body and holds something called DNA which gives the body traits that can be expressed outward and inward?"

"Fascinating, and I thought as much! They had the nerve to call me crazy! Me, the great Sherlock Holmes!"

"How dare they!"

"I'm not insane."

"Sanity is just a state of mind."

"And the mind has no state that stays forever."

"It does seem to travel a lot. At least mine does."

"I think we shall get along famously, my dear girl."

A/N: Yes, it's terrible, but it's late, and I was bored, and sleeping just bores me more…. I just wanted to give my characters some more accurate descriptions and let you know of Spencer's disability. I never let into it before because Murdock is so used to it, that when he does see it, he doesn't react, and Spencer is… Spencer. No other reactions are shown because she's so good at hiding it from everyone but Sherlock.


	5. The Annoying Ones

"Over _there_!"

"No, over _there_."

"I say it was _there_, and, _I_ am_ never_ wrong."

"Well_, I _say it was over_ there, _and I am_ never wrong._"

"We can't both be right, so, that means _you_ are wrong."

"And who gave you the right to say what was right and what was wrong?! GOD?!"

"… Yes."

"Quit that."

"Why should I?"

"You're immature."

"You're old."

"I'm wise, because of my age you insolent brat!"

"I'm quick and clever, you old toad."

Watson and Murdock boredly watched the two Holmes' spar each other with words, each opposite-gender look alike seeming ready to kill the other. Fire sparked in each pair of eyes.

"Any idea as to what they're fighting about?" asked Murdock. Watson nodded to the stool underneath the shelves of various ingredients.

"Someone knocked it over."

"So…"

"So they are fighting about where it was before someone overturned it."

"Erm…"

"Exactly."

"That's… confusing."

Both men turned back to the pair. Murdock held in a groan when he noticed how Spencer seemed ready to spit in Sherlock's eye. Normally, with someone who was _normal_ he wouldn't have been worried.

The only problem was that Spencer had the nerve to spit into the eye of the greatest fictional detective of all time if she felt like it.

Suddenly, the two glaring people turned and began to whole new conversation.

"So it was…"

"Yes, yes, angled like…"

"Quite, quite… Adjustments?"

"Wasn't kicked _that_ hard…"

Murdock looked at Watson.

"Do you have any idea what just happened between them?"

"My dear lad, I don't think _they_ know what just happened between them."

"Right…"

"Okay." said Sherlock suddenly. "We can let them in now."

"Who?" Asked Murdock curiously.

"Them. The ones who smell like candy." Spencer answered, leaning over something disgustingly rotten that had the similarity to a dissected frog.

"Why thank you."

Spencer glared at Sherlock.

"Not you, you overgrown –"

Ben wrapped his hand around the girl's mouth. "Language!" he hissed, before quickly drawing back his palm, to avoid Spencer licking it like he knew she would.

"Which one?" She asked.

"Not. Fun-ny." Murdock drew out the last part of the word slightly as he gave Spencer a mocking tone.

"Yes it is. The annoying one is smirking." Spencer pointed at Sherlock.

"Annoying?!" Sherlock scoffed in mock hurt.

"Yes. You're worse than a three year old child."

""Hm. Should I take that as an insult?"

"I guess not."

"I thought not."

Murdock felt like slapping them both. "When you two die, you're going to kill the Grim Reaper."

"Nonsense the Grim Reaper's dead."

"What? No he's not, Mr. Holmes."

"If he wasn't dead, then why would he escort departed souls?"

"To be somewhere away from you two?"

The older man went a tad quiet. Then Spencer added; "By the way you implied it, you made it sound like we would kill Mr. Reaper by making him laugh extremely hard. That's pickle-foddle. The Grim Reaper has no sense of humor! That's why he's _grim_!" She grinned, eyes bright, and Sherlock gave a chuckle, while Murdock watched her with an expression worthy of being called a glower. Suddenly, she looked at the door, and Murdock noticed how her alertness reminded him of a hare or rabbit. Sherlock was just as alert beside her.

"What is it? Holmes?" asked Watson.

"It's –"Both started to talk at the same time, paused, glowered at the other and tried again.

"It's-"

Another pause, another huff of irritated air, before they both said in a rush of breath;

"It's someone outside of the door."

"Oh… Ahem… Who?" asked Ben.

"The one we've been waiting for, naturally." Spencer answered.

"Oh. Them." Watson said in a sarcastic tone, obviously irritated about something or other.

"Yes. _Them._" The nineteen year old girl looked at Sherlock, and, as though sharing an agreement of unspoken understanding, both casually began to stroll about the room. Watson simply sat back, crossing his arms, and, unsure of what to do, Murdock fell into step beside his friend. "Spencer, what is going on?"

"Someone's at the door. And when we answer it, I have a feeling they aren't going to offer us a few boxes of Girl Scout cookies."

"What then?"

"Do I have to elaborate, you incompetent fool?! A knuckle sandwich!"

"I think I liked the Girl Scout cookies better."

"Of course you did."

"I'm getting hungry…"

"This is hardly the time or place, Ben! But, if you are truly starved, there's a frog over there. I can stuff it down your throat."

"You really _are_ charming, Holmes. Did you know that?"

"I am always aware of how discreetly amazing I am, Murdock."

Ben opened his mouth to reply back smartly, before suddenly the wooden door was thrown open, and two men stood there, one holding a half-eaten candy apple.

"Hello, gentlemen." drawled one. Then he noticed Spencer. He laughed, and walked over to her, grabbing her neck roughly. "And is this a lady?"

"Piss off."

"A snarky lass, I'm guessing." replied the man with an obvious sweet tooth.

"Yes… One that needs to learn to hold her tongue."

"Why on _earth_ would I want to do that? I would look like a dimwit, walking down the street, holding my tongue between my fingers." Spencer snapped in return.

The man who wasn't restraining the girl stepped forward. "You could hold something _else_ between your fingers."

"You sick, demented, bastard! I'll have you know that I am a cross dresser."

"I knew it!" Ben yelled, hoping that if he played along, the men might let her go.

"Well, congratulations, Ben, once again you have totally _fucked up_ my sarcasm."

"Ladies aren't supposed to cuss, lassie." One man sneered into Spencer's ear.

"But, he just said 'e's a cross-dresser!"

"Do you not understand the meaning of the word sarcasm?!" Spencer glared at the man with a look that purely spoke of annoyed irritation toward this abomination of society that didn't know what sarcasm meant.

"Alright, both of ye need to shut up!" Spencer's captor was obviously annoyed. Then he looked over at Sherlock and Watson.

"What about you two? Ye haven't said anything. Are ye with 'em?

"We are, sir, but please, don't stop. The show is just starting to get good"

Sherlock then raised the heavy brass pan, pointing it at the man. "Spencer, my dear girl, who should I knock unconscious first?

///

A/N: I am. Terrible. Please, forgive me everyone!!!!

Disclaimer: I own no one but the two who are mine.


	6. Fighting An Excellent Bonding Resource

The men were glaring at Sherlock with sneers of daring etched upon their ugly twisted faces. Spencer opened her mouth to answer, and that's when the footsteps started. Heavy, thick-soled footsteps that seemed to shake the building to the core of its frame, bringing dust from the ceiling like thin snow. A huge man stepped into the room, looked over the four that did not make up his companions, then spoke in French. Ben had no real knowledge of the language and looked at his nineteen year old comrade in slight confusion. But the brown haired teen was already answering Sherlock's question.

"That depends, Sherlock. Do you want meat… Or potatoes?" She asked him, jerking her head at the large man in the doorframe then at her two captors. Sherlock eyed the men holding his female look-alike, then the Goliath. And when his decision was made, Ben was already in action, Watson at his side. The two "sidekicks" punched each man in the nose, making them stumble back, while Spencer sprang to Sherlock's aid, launching her lithe frame in the air. She kicked the huge man solidly in the chest, bouncing off of his figure as though he was a wall, and she a mere rag doll thrown carelessly by a child. Sherlock caught her as she hit him in the chest, her throat emitting an unwished cry of surprise.

"You alright?" He asked her as she shook her head slightly to clear her slightly stunned vision.

"Just dandy." Replied a growl that issued from her throat, as the nineteen year old stood, her eyes seeming to thirst for revenge. Dredger, as he was called, but this name was not known by either of his opponents, just chuckled at the small child sized figure that dared to challenge him. Spencer charged again, aiming a few quick punches at him hitting target with all, but having to fall back and shake her hands as she winced from the stinging pain his immense mass brought. Dredger took the opportunity to go after Sherlock, lifting the smaller man up by his shirt and throwing him across a table. Spencer body slammed him from behind, knocking him off balance, then dropping down and knocking her foot against his ankles, making him fall to the ground with an echoing bang. Spencer stood panting, and the man grabbed her leg and twisted it. The girl fell to the floor with a yelp of pain and a sickening crack floated through the air. Both doctors turned instinctively, Watson running over first, Ben trying to follow, but being pulled back by one of the two men by his black hair. The twenty-one year old gave a yell of rage more than pain and kicked the man in a sensitive area. Now another yell graced the room, and Murdock glanced up just in time to see Dredger flying through the air and busting down the wall. Ben punched the second potato in the jaw, and another sharp crack sounded. While those two lay groaning on the rubble, Ben ran to Spencer, who lay next to Watson. They stooped over the girl, and unbeknownst to them, put themselves in a very vulnerable position. As they bent to worry over the teenager, one of their thought-to-be-fallen opponents rose and began to stalk toward them. Sherlock, who held a tiny, electricity-powered device, did notice, and when his considerably larger enemy began to advance once more, he tapped the large man's shoulder with the sparking metal. The effect was immediate, and Dredger flew through the air and landed directly onto the advancing potato. Ben and Watson turned to look at the two sprawled men, then at Sherlock, then each other. But when a groan emitted from the now-stirring teen, their attention was averted back to her.

"Spencer?" Ben asked, his voice thick with an uncertain worry. "Are you alright? In pain? Do you think he broke your leg?"

"I'm _fine_." She told him, her brown eyes sparking at him. Murdock knew better than to approach her now. She would refuse treatment and hurt anyone who tried to offer such assistance. He eyed the hurt leg, seeing that it was indeed, fine, more or less. Personally, he'd love to x-ray it, but when Spencer had her mind set on doing something – like kicking the ass of the man who'd caused this injury- Ben knew there was no way to change her stubborn head. She dragged herself up into a sitting position, grimacing slightly in what could have been pain. Ben sighed, resigning himself to checking her leg's health later, and then stuck his hand out to her. She grasped it, and stood, looking over at Sherlock. The man, she's noticed, had fled; it appeared, before she'd gotten the chance to properly serve him her fury on a platter.

"He ran." The man informed her, before her question could be asked.

"Let's go." She told him, taking off at a long stride to follow her prey.

"Damn." Watson said behind him. At first, Ben thought he was talking about Spencer, in either her hard-headed hardiness, or her excellent running form, but when the younger man turned to ask what the doctor was cursing, he was surprised to see him sifting through the destroyed trinkets and tables with an iron chimney utensil.

"What's wrong, Doctor?" He asked, walking forward a few steps to help.

"My engagement ring had been… Misplaced. During the skirmish, no doubt." The man sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I won't get to propose yet."

Ben stopped his rummaging when it became clear that the ring was indeed lost. He stood and stuck his hands deep into his pant's pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet uncertainly.

"I'm very sorry Dr. Watson. Really, I truly am." He told the other medical man, keeping his eyes toward the floor.

"Well, nothing we can do about it. Let's go, I'm sure those two need rescuing. If not, then Sherlock's gotten himself a new record on the need-to-be-helped time." Ben chuckled at the statement before they turned to follow their partners together.

A/N: Okay, so I probably could've written more, but I really didn't want to ruin the sweet Watson and Ben moment that wasn't created well at all.

But, anyway, to my readers who are still faithfully following and reading…. THANK YOU! You are extremely kind to stay with this Fic even though I'm a horrid updater. Reviews are greatly loved, y'all, and needed, might I add. They help me decide the fate of our beloved four. I really can't say much because I don't think there's much to say…

But, anywho, cheers for now. See you at the next chapter!

~Ashy


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